


Tis the Damn Season (Miraculous One-Shot)

by MiraculouslyTrashy



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged Up, Angst, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Christmas, Evermore - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, college aged, i missed the holiday season but here it is, loosely based, love square
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28584681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraculouslyTrashy/pseuds/MiraculouslyTrashy
Summary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WuvhOD-mP8MMarinette is on a well deserved break for the holidays, coming home to Paris for the first time in years. She's surprised to run into her ex, Adrien Agreste, while helping out at the bakery, and realizing she's not quite over him.Can they forget the past and get back together or will they realize that they're just not meant to be?
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 7
Kudos: 91





	Tis the Damn Season (Miraculous One-Shot)

Winter descended on Paris like a clean sheet on a mattress. Snow fluttered through the air, giving everyone and everything a fresh look, a new perspective on what was always there. Snow covers the small everyday flaws, turning the mundane into something breathtaking. 

The snow and twinkling Christmas lights glitter in Marinette's eyes through the fogged-up windows of the cab she’s in. She had forgotten how beautiful the snow could be after studying and interning in Los Angeles for three years. This will be the first Christmas she’s spent in Paris in three years, too. 

Now that she’s more established in her field and workplace, she was finally able to get some off time, long enough to make a trip back home worthwhile. It’s 3 days before Christmas, and she’ll be catching a flight back to L.A. on the afternoon of the 26th. 

Her parents made sure she kept in touch every day, even flying out to LA for New Year’s once the Christmas rush was over at the bakery. God, how she missed the warmth of their bakery, the smells. 

The cab pulls up to the glass doors. “Happy holidays” the driver calls back as Marinette gathers her duffel bag and rolling suitcase from next to her. 

“Happy holidays! Thank you!” She tries to wave before closing her door but she gets tangled in the strap of the bag over her shoulder, it catching on the buttons of her red wool coat. 

She smiles awkwardly and shuts the cab door, straightening herself out while the cab pulls away. 

The chime on the bakery door alerts her parents to her arrival, even above the dozen or so customers browsing and buying and tasting their work. Their heads turn, expecting to greet a customer, but their faces instead light up with delight upon seeing their daughter.

“MARINETTE!” Her mom cries, quickly shuffling out from behind the counter and between customers. 

Mari opens her arms to receive her mom’s embrace, returning it with the same intensity.

“Sorry we couldn't pick you up, we’re just so swamped” She apologizes. 

“No worries! You know I completely understand.” She assures. “I’ll go put my bags upstairs and I’ll come help you guys out down here.”

“No, no. You go up and relax; you just spent 10 hours on a plane.” She insists, ushering her towards the counter and stairs. 

“Exactly! I basically slept for 10 hours. I need to move around! I might be a little rusty on my baking though,” she admits.

Her dad finishes with a customer and meets Marinette as she rounds the counter, wrapping her in a hug. “Let her help if she wants, Sabine.” He directs at Mari, “You can work the counter with mom. I’ve got a few things to rotate in the back.”

Marinette nods, determined to help. She dashes upstairs, tossing her bags onto the couch and slipping out of her coat. Underneath, she’s wearing an oversized, pink sweater and black leggings. Not the most flattering look, but it is the most comfortable one for sitting on a plane for hours. She rolls up her sleeves and ties her hair into a stubby ponytail, then grabs an apron from the stairwell on her way back down. 

She falls easily into the role she usually played in the bakery. While her dad continuously bakes fresh items in the back, Marinette refills the display case and retrieves the pastries and goods that customers want, then her mom checks them out at the register. Like a well-oiled machine. 

As the next couple hours pass, a few customers, regulars, greet Marinette by surprise, happy to see her home. They ask what she's been up to, how’s university and her internship: the usual questions. 

She responds with equal enthusiasm to these customers who, many, watched Marinette grow up behind this counter, from a time where she could barely see over it, to the present. These customers were always her favorites.

7:45pm, 15 minutes till closing. A wintry darkness has fully settled outside, only making the warm and bright interior of the bakery that much more homey. The flood of crowds became only a trickle now; only one or two filtering in at a time from the street. 

Marinette is removing the empty trays from the sold-out items from the display case while Sabine helps Tom with some clean up in the back, getting a head start. She wipes her brow with her right sleeve that keeps unrolling, just as the bell rings on the door. “Welcome to Boulangerie Patisserie” She calls from under the counter, an automatic response, sliding an empty tray out. 

She places the tray on the table behind her before turning to the customer. “What can I-” her words are cut off, meeting the wide green eyes of someone she knows all too well. 

He stands in the middle of the open floor, seemingly caught between strides. His hair is neatly combed, except for a few strands that blew free in the wind, his hands are resting in the pockets of this grey peacoat. 

~

There were no secrets between them. Not after they defeated Hawkmoth right before their senior year of high school. In celebration, Ladybug allowed them to show each other their identities. 

Upon the highest viewing deck of the Eiffel Tower, they revealed their true selves. Both were stunned and elated at this turn of events, that they’d known the other’s civilian self all along. Hugs and tears themed that night, and soon the duo were more than just heroic partners and classmates: they were partners, dating.

Alya was the most pleased with this news, glad that she and Nino could go on double dates with their friends now, and that a new light seemed to radiate from Adrien and Marinette when they were near each other. 

They had much more time to spend together, with no more Akumas their patrols turned into dates and celebrations when Marinette got accepted to a prestigious internship in L.A.. She looked at Adrien with new eyes, reality and the future suddenly crashing in on her thoughts. Preemptively missing him plagued her mind, not knowing how they could ever be apart. 

Adrien did his best to quell her fears, trying to find his own way to L.A. in an attempt to join her. He looked into universities he could transfer to last minute, modeling agencies that would accept him, anything to stay near her. 

When nothing came back, and finals were around the corner, Marinette took charge. She planned every week of summer to be filled with activities for them, and their friends, wanting to make the most of this last summer together. Beach trips, museum tours, picnics, lunch dates, anything to make this summer one to remember. 

One of many kisses was shared between the duo after their graduation. When looking forward to a perfect summer together, Nathalie stepped in. 

She swooped in, taking Adrien into Agreste Fashion every day to learn the business, now that Gabriel was jailed. But even from jail, Gabriel had control over Adrien’s life. Adrien begged and pleaded for days off, or to be freed from any duty he was told he owed the company at all. But there was no way out of it. 

Their perfect summer was just a ghost of an idea now. 

Marinette tried to stop by the intimidating building that is Agreste Fashion every day with something from the bakery. Every day she would ask the receptionist if she could deliver it to Adrien herself, and every day she was told no and a secretary took her treat to Adrien without her. 

Their nights as Chat and Ladybug felt more like dreams than ever before, fleeting and disconnected. 

She was the last to board the plane to America, hoping to see Adrien run around the corner to see her off, but she knew that was foolish wishful thinking at that point. 

Shaky video calls and text messages were not enough to keep the waning light of their love lit. They struggled to find consistent times to call and talk between their conflicting schedules; and these times became less and less frequent until they nearly stopped all together. 

No one's heart was broken, just tired. 

In their last video call, three months after Marinette left Paris, they both agreed that it wasn't working out, that their lives were going in different directions. Silent tears ran down both their cheeks, imperceptible by their webcams, as they agreed they were better off friends.

~

“Marinette,” he cracks a surprised but polite smile, “I don't know you were in town.” His feet continue their path to the counter. “I thought you were still in America.”

She doesn't let her sporadic, and confused heart affect her, brushing herself off and straightening up. “I am, I mean I was. I have been for three full years pretty much. Figured I was overdue for a trip home.” She explains cordially, her hands resting on the edge of her side of the counter. “Are you still with your company?”

He nods, “Yeah, junior executive now. But I’m also taking some classes at the university to supplement some courses.” 

“That’s great!” she replies enthusiastically, easing into his presence. Even though they were by all means ‘still friends’, their communication had dropped off to the point where they only ever texted each other to wish the other ‘happy birthday’. “Do you normally stop by the bakery, then?” She smirks, changing the subject before he can ask about her studies. 

His hands sink deeper into his pockets, “Uh, yeah, I try to stop by after work once... or twice a week.” He shrugs, a slight rush of blush is hidden by his cheeks already being red from the cold outside. 

“Oh, I thought that was you, Adrien!” Mrs. Dupain-Cheng calls from the back, poking her head out, “Marinette, I’ve already got his order bagged under the register.” She instructs, dripping back into the kitchen, missing the dumbfounded look Marinette was trying to convey to her.

Marinette picks up the white paper bag from under the counter labeled ‘Adrien - 8€’. “Only ‘once or twice a week’, hmm?” she teases playfully, finding it easy to fall back into their usual friendly patterns from before; the awkwardness falling away like snow. 

He chuckles, “Maybe it’s more often than I realized...” he plays off, handing Marinette his credit card. 

She rings him up, hands his card back and slides the paper bag of pastries towards him. “Well, we love a dependable customer” she says, regretting her wording after the fact. 

He takes the bag, oblivious to any accidental double meaning to her words, too busy mulling over his own. “I’m having a Christmas Eve party at my house. Just a family and friends’ kind of thing. You should stop by. If you're free. If you want. You’ll still be in town, right?”

Her eyebrows shoot up, “Uh, yeah. I... should ask my parents though, they might have plans for us or something...” she deflects, her mind too caught up in potential implications of saying ‘yes’, or the fact he even invited her, to actually make a decision right now. 

He ducks his head slightly, curling the top of the pastry bag, “Right, of course, I didn't mean to impose.” He clears his throat, “Well, text me when you decide. Or maybe I’ll see you around before then.”

She laughs to herself, “If I see my mom keep making you treat bags you probably will.” 

He chuckles, “Pretty likely then,” he admits. “We should catch up properly while you’re in town, regardless” he says, taking half steps towards the door, reluctantly taking leave.

A wistfulness in her own mind catches her off guard, “Yeah,” she waves, “see ya,”

The door chimes as he makes his exit, a few snowflakes drift in before he closes the door behind him. 

Sabine returns, wiping her hands on her apron. “Adrien left already?” 

Marinette squares up her mom, “Why didn't you tell me Adrien was coming in tonight?”

She shrugs, picking up the empty trays from the table. “I didn't think you’d be working tonight, and I thought you two would want to catch up anyway.” She smiles to herself.

Marinette stutters, trying to make a coherent thought, “I-I mean, yeah, but, I didn't know he was still in Paris, a-and didn't expect him to just walk in here.” She grabs the key from the stairway and marches over to the entrance to lock it for the night. 

Sabine shrugs again, “You going to go to his party? Could be fun”

Marinette scoffs at her mother’s obvious eavesdropping, “I’m home for the first time in three years and you’re pushing me to spend Christmas Eve at some party?” 

“You know dad and I usually turn in early on Christmas Eve. And you’re not just visiting us, you should visit everyone who is still in Paris. Who knows the next time you’ll have this much time off?” She encourages, knowing Tom feels the same way. “Is there anyone else you could visit?”

Marinette shakes her head, “Alya and Nino are still in Spain, and I honestly don’t know where everyone else is at right now...” she crosses her arms over her chest, realizing how disconnected she’s made herself from the rest of her high school friends. 

“Even more reason you should go to the party!” She teases, then sighs. “Go on upstairs, dad and I will finish up.”

Mari exhales in feigned discontent. “Fine. I’ll text him later.” She hangs the key back on the designated hook and makes her way up to the main living room. 

She nabs her bag and suitcase and drags them the rest of the way to her room on the third floor. She grunts softly, pushing the trapdoor open above her head and flicking on the light switch. She drops her bags in the middle of the floor, taking in her room. Everything seemed smaller somehow, the furniture and walls. 

A light coat of dust covers everything around her, nothing in here has been touched for three years. She knows that she is not the same girl that last walked these floorboards, but being back makes her feel younger, simpler, in a good way. 

A few pictures of Adrien still hang by her desk. After she actually started dating him, she took down some of the obsessive number of photos she acquired of him, because she had the genuine article to stare at without shame. 

_Had_.

Her hand lingers along the bottom edge of one of the photos, an impulse away from yanking it off her wall. ‘ _A childish solution to a childish crush._ ’ She berates herself. 

Wishes are always easier in one's mind, in our personal fantasies. Growing up, dealing with what life hands you, forces one into reality. And the reality of it was that Marinette and Adrien couldn't make things work, no matter how much they wanted to cling to who they thought they were: heroes, unstoppable. 

Them ending things went against everything both of them thought about their lives and the future. 

Tikki flies out of Marinette’s bag, watching Marinette grip, frozen still, on a photo of her and Adrien in the early days of their relationship. The selfie of them sitting in the park grass together clings to her wall by the thin strip washi tape holding it there. 

Tikki flies up next to the photo, trying to catch Marinette’s strained gaze. “You don't really want to do that, do you?” She eases Marinette’s hand so the tape isn't straining from its adhesion to the wall. “You’re still friends after all,”

She sighs, “Right,” she whispers, smoothing the photo back on the wall, her eyes glaze over the rest of the pictures. 

“Are you going to text Adrien about the party?” she prompts, flying back to the other side of the room, hoping Marinette’s attention will stray from her photo wall. 

“I don't know. I don't know any other friends in town so I probably won’t know anyone there except Adrien. And I don't want to be that person who just clings to the host all night.” She bemoans, trudging back to her suitcase to unpack. “I just wanted a simple vacation from school and work, and this situation is not simple.”

“Maybe you’re over thinking” Tikki suggests, sitting herself down on the vanity to watch Marinette. “You could finally wear one of those dresses you made but never had a place to wear them to...” 

Her eyes lift to gaze at the wardrobe full of her creations which, like Tikki said, haven't really seen the light of day, besides being photographed for her portfolio. Her mind wanders to her showing up at Adrien’s house in one of her designs- like a Cinderella moment...

Except Cinderella and Prince Charming have been broken up for years with little active communication. She holds no ill feelings towards him; it's more like a wave of sadness and regret that overtake her when she thinks about what they both agreed to leave behind. 

“And... I would like to visit Plagg...” Tikki whispers halfheartedly, knowing it's a bit of a guilt trip.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll go. But no promises for how long we stay.” She resigns, pulling out the clothes she's packed for her trip home, but her thoughts are thumbing through the dresses in her wardrobe.

~

She should have known the nature of the party when Adrien told her it was a black-tie affair. Good thing she liked getting the chance to wear one of her old creations. It’s a maroon dress, fitted, long-sleeve, off the shoulders, top, with a skirt that billows out slightly at her hips on the way to the floor. The skirt shimmers like the stars above her as she steps out of her car onto the front step of Agreste Manor. 

She follows behind a middle-aged couple inside, where dozens of people are already mingling, drinking champagne from silver platters. Garland festoons the banisters and archways. Faint holiday piano music seems to be coming from somewhere in the house, but she can tell it's not a live performer. Everyone is gathered in small clusters, talking intently on things she doesn't understand upon first contact. 

As expected, she doesn't see anyone she knows.

She barely makes it across the foyer before she considers turning and waving down the valet to bring her car back. Her palms get warm, feeling out of place in her non-designer dress, and self-done makeup and hair. 

While turning to leave, Adrien spies her as he exits the office. His heart skips a beat before he cuts his way through the crowds, politely greeting guests along the way. “Marinette!” he taps her on the shoulder, making her turn in with a beautiful stare, taking in Adrien’s black suit and bow tie. 

Adrien restrains himself from gawking, “You-you look amazing” he compliments, gesturing to all of her. 

She smiles but her eyes dart to the exit. “Thanks,”

Adrien’s smile falters, noticing this quick movement. “Is something wrong?”

Marinette shakes her head to say ‘No’, but she can’t lie to him. “I- I don’t think I should be here. Kinda feel out of place.” 

His eyes turn regretful, “Yeah, sorry. I originally didn't think there’d be this many people. The other executives at the company kind of hijacked my get together. I think they just wanted a free venue for the company holiday party.” He shrugs.

A sympathetic smile pulls at her lips, “I understand; things just not going how they’re planned.” 

His breath catches in his throat, “Y-yeah. But uh, hey, let me introduce you around-” he waves to a smartly dressed woman, calling her over to them before Mari can protest. “Andrea, this is my friend Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Mari shakes the woman's hand, eyes widening when she recognizes who she is. “Marinette this is-”

“Andrea Moretti-” she breathes out, astonished to be shaking hands with one of the top Italian fashion designers. She wears a sharp white dress and white heels, contrasting the soft smile that she gives Marinette.

“Yes, Andrea collabed with Agreste Fashion earlier this year, trying to bring Italian design to France.” Adrien explains, “Marinette is a highly recognized intern at Armature Studios in L.A., studying fashion on scholarship at Alina College of Art and Design. She was even featured in their annual review the past two years” He beams.

Marinette’s mind skips a beat, wondering how he knows this information, but is overcome by the look of appraisal in Andrea’s eyes. “Impressive. One of my designers graduated from Alina. And Armature is known for being very... gumptious” Andrea admires, “Are you wearing yourself as well?” 

Mari nods nervously, lifting the skirt to make sure it’s draping correctly, “Uh yes, I designed and constructed this dress while in high school”

Her eyes move up and down her dress. “Very nice. Do you have a card?” 

Mari feels light headed as she opens her clutch purse to produce a business card with an address to her online portfolio. “Yeah! Here,” 

Andrea slips it into her own purse, “Thanks, I look forward to seeing what you do in the future.” She dismisses herself to join another group across the room. 

Mari watches her walk away in awe before turning back to Adrien, talking in hushed excitement. “Adrien, oh my god, she-she liked my dress, she took my card-” 

He chuckles, glad to see her mood turned, “I saw. There’s a few more people I’d like you to meet. Come on” He places a hand on the small of her back.

Marinette lets him lead her to other guests scattered across the house. She’s equally shocked with each designer, magazine editor, and fashion icon she meets; most of them asking more about her and for her business card before parting. 

The next couple hours pass like this, Marinette mingling with people she’d only dreamed of meeting one day. Her sweaty palms dry, becoming more comfortable in this crowd of notable people. It helps that Adrien never leaves her side, except to refill her glass or to bring a rotating assortment of horderves. 

And as her nerves settle, she also finds herself _staying_ close to Adrien, wanting to be in the bubble of his presence. Her hand on his shoulder, a touch of his arm, his hand on her waist. It comes naturally, like muscle memory on this enchanting night before Christmas. 

The two of them approach a new set of four people, Adrien introducing all the unfamiliar faces to Marinette. 

“Oh, I didn't know you had a girlfriend, Mr. Agreste.” One woman teases playfully, like a relative would. 

This shakes both of them briefly. 

“Oh, no, we’re not-” Adrien starts, looking down to Marinette for support. But he stops, blinking in almost-surprise to find his right arm around her waist, and her left arm resting on his shoulder comfortably. If he had seen two people intertwined like they have been most of the night, he would also assume they were in a relationship. 

He can see in Marinette’s eyes she’s coming to the same realization. 

Marinette drops her hand from him and side steps out of his reach, “-we’re not dating,” she finishes Adrien’s thought, trying to display an innocent smile, like a simple mistake had been made; but the burning blush on her and Adrien’s faces says otherwise.

“Oh, my apologies,” the woman amends, but can't hide the skepticism on her face, and neither can anyone else in this small group of people. 

Marinette and Adrien spend the rest of this conversation separated, with crossed arms or self-entwined hands, aware that they can't trust their subconscious movements towards the other.

After this group dismisses, they leave Marinette and Adrien standing alone against the wall. 

“Here,” Adrien motions for her to follow him after a few seconds pass. 

She follows him up the stairs to the empty second floor where the lights are off to discourage guests from roaming up there. She lifts her skirt so she doesn't trip on the way up. He turns to stand along the banister, looking down at the party goers, out of sight from this balcony-like position over the foyer. 

Keeping a good gap between them, she joins him, leaning forward on the railing and taking a deep breath. The air is cooler up here, less stuffy compared to the unavoidable warm haze from all the bodies below. She feels the cool air fill her lungs, exhaling slowly as they’re both under-lit by the spectacle downstairs. 

He keeps his eyes down, “I’m glad you could make it” he says, a bit too quiet for all the ambient voices and music still ebbing below. 

“Me too” she admits, “I should thank _you_ for inviting me, and introducing all these incredible people.” 

He shrugs dismissively, “No big deal. These people deserve to know _you_. And I figured I owed you for ditching you that last summer...”

She straightens up, turning her head to him, “You didn't ditch me, you had to work for your company. It seems like it paid off-” she waves her hand across the crowd. 

‘ _At what cost..._ ’ he bites his tongue, holding back this thought. “I’m just glad this job was able to benefit you too, after today.” His unfocused gaze stays on the mingling crowds. 

“Y-you don't have to worry about me like that. I really appreciate what you did tonight, but I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything. It wasn't your fault-” 

“Isn't it?” He answers her cut off sentence. “I practically abandoned you that last summer after graduation, then I missed your flight! I was late sending you off to L.A. because of this job.”

“Late?”

He gives a single nod, “I drove there myself, got a speeding ticket, and still arrived just as your plane was taxiing out, because I was stuck in a boardroom until the last minute; and was stuck there every minute since until it didn't matter anymore, when it was too late.” He squeezes his eyes shut, “So yes, it’s my fault we couldn't make things work.”

She slides over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and coaxing him to open his eyes. “I’m the one who left Paris, I left this whole continent! And I decided that I didn't need a break from work or studying for 3 years.” She tries to smile, to force a bit of humor into the situation. “The industry is so... competitive, I made no time for you to remain in my life. I’m sharing the blame with you whether you like it or not.” She smiles gently, finally meeting Adrien’s eyes.

He melts under her stare, remembering how they held each other downstairs, how close they had gotten without realizing it, like magnets. “We’ll call it even,” he surrenders, his mind still lingering on his last thought. “What if... what if we pretend all that didn't happen?” 

She drops her hand, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, how we were down there; you letting me hold you close to me, acting like we never broke up.” He says longingly, turning between Mari and the floor below. 

She recalls the feeling of his arm around her, his hand on her waist, leaning on his shoulder, just like how it used to be. It frightened her a little how easy it was to fall back into those patterns. Of all the responses flying through her mind, none of them were an outright ‘no’. “H-how? Wouldn't that be weird?”

He shakes his head, “It’d only be for the weekend. Kind of just... pretending all those short-comings never happened.”

She chuckles at that wishful thinking of forgetting the past, but finds herself leaning more and more into the idea. “That...does sound nice,” she smirks.

A Chat-like lopsided grin overtakes his face, “Is that a yes?” He asks, already leaning in, craving whatever brief happiness he can find this holiday season. “I think we know our lives are running opposite directions right now, so just for this brief intersection in time and space, say yes”

She can’t say no to that look, even if she wanted to, and at this point, all she wants to say is ‘ _Yes!_ ’ but the more rational side of her brain stops her from being too enthusiastic, allowing a small, but intrigued “Yes.”

He tilts her chin up so her lips meet his. Her hands pull on the collar of his suit jacket while she also stands on her toes. Some of Adrien’s longer strands of hair come loose, dangling down. Again, like muscle memory, they connect instantly, no awkwardness left. 

Marinette missed this, oh how she missed his kiss when she left for L.A.. She can't even remember their last kiss because she didn't know it would be their last. 

She is everything Adrien remembers and more. His memories of their kisses didn't hold a flame to experiencing it in real time; like a man in the desert dreaming of water and one day finding his oasis. 

Simultaneously, they separate to breathe, staying in the same position, just inches apart with the tips of their noses touching. “Tis the damn season,” Adrien purrs, pecking follow up kisses on her cheeks and nose.

Marinette pulls him away from the banister, still holding his collar and whispering, “You know what we should do, if we’re _really_ pretending the last three years didn't happen?” 

His eyes glean in the dim light, “You’re serious?” He raises an eyebrow at the idea of more walks down memory lane, even though he feels practically content with just that single kiss. 

She bites her bottom lip, “We just have to find where our Kwamis are hiding”

“I have an idea.” He says, leading her to his bedroom. 

He cracks open the door, immediately spotting Tikki and Plagg lounging on the grand piano in the moonlight-lit room, snacking on cookies and appetizers they’d snuck from the kitchen. They don't seem surprised by their Chosen, having sensed their approach. “We leaving already?” Tikki squeaks, tinged with sadness.

Marinette takes the lead, scooping her Kwami into her hands, “Not quite.” She nuzzles Tikki, “After the party, _we_ were thinking we could... _patrol_ around Paris for old times’ sake” 

“Why wait till after?” Adrien comes up from behind, poking Plagg who has seemingly stuffed himself with cheese and crackers. 

“Won’t your guests wonder where you are?” Mari questions him while fighting back a laugh at Tikki’s ecstatic expression. 

He shrugs, “I’ve made my rounds; they know the way out if it gets too late.” He takes in Plagg’s skeptical expression.

Plagg grunts, getting himself off the piano and hovers between Mari and Adrien, “What’s up with you two? Something’s definitely up don't deny it.” He eyes them. 

“Just having some fun” Mari offers, “It’s been a while”

Adrien taps the piano keys, playing a few notes of ‘Last Christmas’. The timbre of these few strokes is exactly what’s missing from the recorded music looping downstairs. The notes and the association with the lyrics strike her core. “Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t reunite that often.” Adrien smirks at Plagg, who still has his eyes narrowed. 

“Oh come on, Plagg!” Tikki flies to him and shakes him excitedly, “Just for old times’ sake. You just told me how much you missed being Chat Noir.” She teases him.

He scoffs, but doesn't deny it, “Fine fine, whatever. Let’s just do it already,” he turns his back to her, hiding his smile.

Adrien brings Marinette’s hand to his lips, kissing the back of her fingers, “After you, M’lady,” 

She rolls her eyes, “You really going to bring that back?” she scrunches her nose up at her old nickname.

“Just for the weekend.” He winks.

She opens her mouth to protest, but the nostalgia of the nickname is too much. “Spots on!” 

“Claws out!” 

In a flash of light, both of them become their alter egos. Ladybug flexes her fingers, wearing her spotted suit fills her with memories. 

Chat opens his bedroom window, letting a gush of icy air spill inward. He waits with expectant eyes, “Shall we?”

She smiles, “Let’s just try and make sure no one sees us” she swings her yo-yo in a circle, finding her muscle memory intact. 

“Can do, Princess.” 

Her heart thumps a little louder in her ears. She throws her yo-yo out the window, yanking her through- into the cold night, followed closely behind by Chat.

She missed being Ladybug; Ladybug is a part of her and always will be. Even if she had the courage to zip around L.A. with her yo-yo, she knew it wouldn't be the same without Chat beside her. During most of the new experiences she had in America, the homesickness couldn't touch her. It was the activities she performed in L.A., that she used to do at home with her friends or family, were the ones that bore a hole into her soul. 

Baking bread in her studio apartment oven without her parents by her side pained her to the point where she only did it once, and couldn't imagine having the strength to attempt it again. 

Leaping across rooftops without Chat Noir was unimaginable to begin with. Laying in her apartment bedroom, remembering every thrill of being Ladybug, she never once considered being Ladybug without him. 

Her chest tightens at the thought of having to lose _this feeling_ again, flying through Paris beside him. She’s lighter than air right now, but knows gravity will take over soon enough...

The streets are mostly empty; most children are already in their beds hoping to hear reindeer hooves on their roof, and parents are sneaking cookies off the plate left for Santa. 

Ladybug zips her way to the top of the Eiffel Tower. From up here, the true Christmas spirit of the city reveals itself. For miles around, Ladybug gazes with awe at the Christmas lights that decorate almost every building. She turns to see Chat’s reaction, but it seems he only has eyes for her. 

“Tell me about L.A.?” He offers a hand for her to sit next to him on the top ledge of the tower. 

She tucks her hand into his, sitting down and leaning against his shoulder, she shrugs. “It’s great,” she voices, a bit lackluster, not offering any more information. 

He squeezes her hand, his mouth turning down with worry, “You sure?”

She nods, her voice soft “Of course. I’m doing what I love. It’s an amazing opportunity to study and intern in L.A....” she tries to add more enthusiasm to her words, but it pools around her like tar instead.

“But?” Chat infers, still in-tune with Ladybug’s usual cadence. The way she spoke to the party guests had no indication of anything besides pride in her work. 

Ladybug crunches her nose, realizing she can’t hide anything from Chat. She shakes her head absentmindedly, “It... it's just a lot. School and interning; constantly comparing, competing with my peers in both places...” she rolls her eyes “I haven't had real time off in three years and I'm still worried that coming home has set me back compared to everyone else.” She sighs dejectedly. “I’m just tired.”

His heart aches for her, “I’m sorry, I wish you didn't have to feel this way.” He pulls her closer, “I wish I could have been there for you.”

This truth grounds her, “I wish so too.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “I thought... I thought we had forever... _together_. When that turned out to be impossible...I couldn't...”

“I know, I feel, er, _felt_ it too,” He pulls her closer- the debilitating ache in his chest from when they broke up echoes in memory, only truly beginning to heal when he saw her at the bakery. 

A distant church bell chimes, breaking up the low rumblings of a silent night in Paris.

“Merry Christmas” he whispers unceremoniously due to the drop in the conversation. He turns to face her, placing a hand on her cheek to kiss her. It’s slow and sweet compared to their kiss from earlier, with Ladybug much less eager as well.

Chat stops before she pulls away. With her eyes closed, she laments “I don't know if I can do this anymore.” 

He straightens up, taking both of her hands in his, “You’re almost done with school, you’ve made it so far!” He tries to give her a pep talk, scared to hear that she’s losing her passion for what she loves.

She shakes her head in denial, “No, it's not that. I can't do _this_ anymore-” she squeezes his hands, unable to look at him, “I can’t pretend anymore. I’m just going to lose you all over again, so what's the point?” She tries to pull away, Chat reluctantly letting her stand and take shaky steps away from him.

He knows what she means. This isn't a clean break by any means. The hole in his chest will tear open 10-fold once she’s gone again. “I guess... one last hurrah? Before life breaks us apart again?” He says slowly, sincerely, still seated on the ledge. 

“Then what? Next time I’m at my parents’ house we do this again? A new Christmas tradition where we honeymoon in the wake of our break up?” She snaps, growing more anxious and regretting her tone. “Where does _this_ stop?” She gestures between the two of them. 

“Who says this has to stop?” He murmurs, barely audible but knows Ladybug heard him when she tenses up. 

She puts her face in her hands, her mind at war because Chat brought up the one question that she forbade to reach the forefront of her thoughts. “Adrien. I love you. I always will. But it feels like _this_ will never work how we thought it would when we were kids. You have your career and I have mine. Some things aren't meant to be...”

“W-why _can’t_ we make this work? Nothing ever turns out how you think it will when you’re still a kid.” He gets to his feet, facing her turned back, “I’d wait forever if it meant I got to be with you at the end of the day.” He declares, “Because I know it won’t be like this forever. We’ll settle into our fields and find time, or _make_ time if we have to!” He takes cautious steps towards her, reaching for her shoulder.

Her head hangs low, her arms crossed over her chest.

“You won’t lose me, you can’t lose me, because even if we... _remain_ broken up,” he winces, “-I’ll always be here for you, cheering you on whether you know it or not.” He challenges. “And you have my heart, whether you want it or not.” 

She turns and shakes her head, “Don’t say that. We have to let each other go. What we _have_ , is too good to be true. A star that burns bright then dies, and we should let it die.” She chokes out, forcing herself to say the words, “Or else we can never move on with our lives, always trying to relive the supernova, but we’re really just stuck in a black hole.” 

Cracks form in Chat’s heart. “I can't stop you then? This is it?” 

She gives a single nod.

“Then, I’ll leave with my dignity.” He sniffs, “I’m glad I could see you one last time, Princess.” He bows, bringing his face parallel to the beam; his hair hanging over his face and hiding his brimming tears. 

When she doesn't respond, he extends his staff and vaults away. The city blurs in his eyes, leaving a wake of tears behind him. 

Once out of sight, Ladybug collapses to her hands and knees with body shaking sobs. 

~

She spends the rest of her break hollow, putting on a convincing smile for her parents, but they can tell they're facades, deciding to let Marinette bring it up before they prod. 

The night before her flight, Alya calls for their weekly video chat that Alya strictly enforces. During this, Marinette can’t stop herself from revealing what happened the past few days after Alya notices the rings under Mari’s eyes. 

“Yikes,” she replies after the retelling of events (edited so that they simply chatted after the party, and not on top of the Eiffel Tower) “no wonder you look like shit” she smirks, adding to the joking comment. 

“Thanks” Mari mumbles, slumping on her bed with her phone in hand. 

“Why _can't_ you make the long-distance thing work? Nino and I had to do it for a year when I went to New York.” She poses, having held back her questions when they originally broke up, but can’t hold them back now. 

Marinette sighs and closes her eyes, “I don’t know, we just couldn’t. We just grew apart. You and Nino made it seem easy.”

Alya clicks her tongue, “I didn't say it's easy. Love is work, Marinette.”

“And I’m already working myself to death! I can’t have a relationship that feels like another job!” She bemoans, slumping all the way down onto her back, her head now on her pillows.

Alya drops her usual casual tone, staring Marinette down through the screen, “You said you still loved him. Isn't your happiness worth it?”

She cracks a cynical smirk, “My happiness? I am... _happy_ ,” she demurs, smearing the word. Sure, she figures, life in L.A. is stressful, but it’s fulfilling. It seems to be enough for other people. Isn't that all _she_ needs? Isn't that _her_ happiness? 

“Isn't _he_ worth it?” Alya presses.

Marinette knows she doesn't want Adrien out of her life; he’s the Yin to her Yang, her Chat Noir. Every memory of him is embedded in her soul, it’s just that certain ones now hurt to remember; that’s how their kiss at the party is turning: painful, regretful. She cherished their friendship but now fears that they’ll be stuck at ‘yearly birthday texts’ as their only mode of communication- Maybe it won’t even be at that level after how she left him. 

“I should get some rest; I have to pack in the morning.” She replies, consciously not answering Alya.

Alya presses her lips into a hard line. “Okay, well, I’ll just leave you with this: You and Adrien are both my friends, and I hate seeing you two like this, devoid of what you gave each other.” When Marinette doesn't comment, she finishes, “Well, goodnight. Have a safe flight,” before hanging up. 

~

Weak morning light breaks through her window, adding to her haze as she packs her things. She gathers a few things from her desk, her eyes drifting to the photo of her and Adrien in the park again. With a flick of her fingers she pulls it off the wall and drops it towards her waste bin. 

Taking a last look around her room, things feel foreign, the same as when she arrived. This time capsule of her youth returning to its dormant state; she throws on her coat and carries her suitcase and duffel down to the bakery where her parents are waiting. 

They hug and kiss, a bittersweet goodbye. Mrs. Dupain-Cheng hands her a paper bag with some baked goods for the airport and plane. Marinette holds back tears, not knowing when the next time she’ll be home. 

The cab ride is uneventful. The tires splash in the melting snow slush, the city no longer resembling a perfect white-Christmas. She tries to occupy her mind by scrolling through her phone, but knows she’s due to do exactly this during her 12-hour flight, so she stops. 

She drags her belongings out of the cab and onto the sidewalk, some slush splashing onto her duffel as the cab drives away. Groaning, she roughly shakes it off before slinging it on her shoulder, the wet spot transferring to the side of her pants. 

The airport isn't too busy this morning, most people are still on their vacations where the last thing on their mind is flying home early. She checks in without hassle at the front desk an hour before her flight. 

She rolls her suitcase towards security, rubbing the damp spot on her leg, wishing the friction would dry it. 

She lifts her head just in time to see a man in a grey peacoat push himself off the wall from where he was leaning, waiting for her in the hallway to the security checkpoint.

Marinette stops in her tracks, letting him come to her. 

“I made sure to come early this time,” Adrien expresses once he’s close enough, taking in her face which is set like stone. 

“Why are you here.” She asks flatly, concentrating on keeping her emotions in check. Her hand tightens on the front strap of her duffel bag. 

“I couldn't let you leave, at least not like this.” He says, holding his distance at two feet away from her in the middle of the mostly empty hall. 

“Adrien, this isn't the time. I have a flight to catch,” She monotones, trying to sidestep him, but he blocks her way. 

“I know, but I couldn't think of another way to do this.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

Confusion flashes across her face, “What is that?” 

“It’s a plane ticket... to L.A.” he confesses, watching Marinette’s careful expression falter around the edges. “It’s just an option, for you to choose- or not.”

“I don’t understand”

He leans forward, the ticket still held between them, “I want- er, I can go to America with you. I’ll tell my advisors and staff that I’m scouting to expand Agreste Fashion to L.A., I’ve actually brought up the idea before but there was never a perfect time for one of us to go; so now I’m _making_ the time-” He reaches for her hand clinging to the duffle strap on her shoulder. Carefully, he pulls it towards him, placing his plane ticket in her hand “-if you’ll have me.” 

The ticket is heavy in her hand, she reads the information on it. ‘ _Adrien Agreste, 0900 Paris, France to Los Angeles, California, United States of America_ ’ It’s real and this is really happening; this fact starts to make her a little light headed, until her mind catches on a coherent thought: “Y-you said this was ‘just an option’? What are the other options?” She chokes out.

Although a fair question, Adrien’s demeanor falls slightly after dreaming that her initial reaction to this news would be her jumping into his arms with jubilation. Needless to say, her actual reaction was not as encouraging. “You can tear that ticket up, and I’ll understand,” he says calmly.

Her mouth hangs open, holding their combined fate in her hands. She wants to scream ‘Yes! Come with me!’ but it stays in the back of her throat, choking her. Her rational mind shoves words out her mouth, “Even if you came to L.A. with me,” the thought alone sending a rush through her, “I still am busy with school and my internship”

He lights back up, “Oh! Andrea says she looked at your portfolio and she’d be willing to give you a part time _job_ at her L.A. studio, and make you a full partner when you graduate. And you would be given more control over your schedule than you do now; it would free up some of your time, which you deserve.” He clears his throat awkwardly, explaining “That’s, uh, separate, of course, from whether I go to L.A. or not. Andrea thought it might be a better environment than Armature for you creatively, plus she _really_ wants you on her team.”

She feels her heart stop as his words echo in her head, slowing catching up to her extremities. She does a little hop with excitement, letting herself go from the mental hold on herself, “You’re serious?! She wants me??” She bubbles with glee, “I need to call her! I accept! I’ll start whenever she wants me to! Oh my god-” She drops her bags and throws her arms around Adrien’s shoulders suddenly, “-thank you!” she buries her face in his shoulder.

He hugs her close, still unsure of his own fate, wrapping his arms around her waist. His cheek rests on her head, “You’re going to do great things,” he swears, happy enough to know she’ll be less stressed and working at a great place. He doesn't want to let her go, afraid that this is the last time they’ll be this happy together. He figures maybe she feels the same way because she isn't letting go either. 

She loosens her arms behind his neck, lowering the intensity of the embrace to something more intimate feeling, caring. “Adrien-?” She looks up at him, her eyes round and innocent.

“Yeah?” He whispers, staring deep into those eyes he missed every day these past few years, getting lost in her ocean-blues.

“You know I love you, and at one point... I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you by my side-”

“But,” Adrien inserts for her, mouthing the words because he has stopped breathing.

She nods slowly, “-but... my apartment lease isn't up for another 3 months and my landlord doesn't allow long term guests, so you’ll need to find your own place in L.A. till then.” She says quickly and seriously, but a smile creeps up on her with each word she says, leaving her with a mischievous smile by the end, thoroughly throwing Adrien through a loop.

His mouth hangs open, staring at her in disbelief. Her contagious smile reaches him, “Did you- are you serious?” He chuckles, pulling her close again.

Marinette holds up his plane ticket between them, “I _am_ serious, you can’t crash at my place for too long; my landlord is an ass.” She jokes.

Adrien picks her up and swings her around, planting kisses on her cheeks as her feet touch ground again. He purrs out his words between kisses, “I’m sure he won’t mind a few days - I’ll find us a place - in no time - I promise - I promise” 

She catches his lips with her own, feeling a depth to their kiss she’s never felt before; maybe because the kiss is their mutual promise, a promise for their future together. 

They both break away to breathe at the same moment. With the rational part or Marinette’s mind still ticking, she blinks to the present, “Hey, uh, _we_ have a flight to catch” she imparts, handing him his ticket with her heart still racing. 

Adrien’s far away gaze suddenly focuses, having forgotten their circumstances. Slightly flustered, he straightens up, trying to avoid the eyes of passing passengers. “Uh, right,” he says sheepishly, taking his ticket and Marinette’s bags. 

She entwines her arm with his, resting her head on his shoulder, “Let’s go” she enthuses with a half-skip in her step.


End file.
